


what do i do now (i'm used to you being around)

by Pandemic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Prostitution Roleplay, Steve Feels, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandemic/pseuds/Pandemic
Summary: His life is not one he is inordinately proud of, and he atones for the sins of his past, of his father, with a near literal pound of flesh every other day. There is a lot of things he has done he is not proud of, a lot of things that wake him in terror with his mouth open on a scream. But he knows, fiercely and deeply, that he would not change an inch if it meant losing this, losing the route of the road that led him to Steve.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 144





	what do i do now (i'm used to you being around)

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the gorgeous Johnlock fic: [A Case of Mistaken Occupation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/954018#work_endnotes)
> 
> So please, if you haven't already, please shower some love on this gorgeous work.
> 
> The prompt, molded to fit SteveTony: In the USA it is illegal for hotels to allow prostitutes to use hotel rooms for their business. As such, a recently married Steve and Tony get turned away from a hotel because the receptionist thinks Steve is a prostitute and Tony is his client.

The day they've had has been utterly ridiculous from start to finish. Tony thinks he can still feel ash clinging to his skin, smoke embedded in his pores. The tower was a mess, wires exposed against the walls like raw nerves, rock and rubble littering the floor. They'd stayed long enough to confirm the lab was secure, to make sure everyone was safe, before Tony had taken the initiative to book a hotel not too far away under a false name to avoid press and whisk his new husband away.

His _husband_. It still felt bizarre to say it. He thumbed the wedding band encircling his finger, spinning it round the digit in a patten already familiar to him. It didn't take long for Steve to notice him doing it, for him to reach forward and clasp his hand. "Some post honeymoon gift from Von Doom." Tony scoffed quietly to him, "remind me not to send him a thank you card."

Steve fixed his lover with a look. It was a look that Steve thought seemed firm and amused, but Tony had transcribed it to mean _Tony you are so smart and attractive let me have my wicked way with you oh light of my life_. Which Tony definitely wasn't against. Especially since just before Von Doom had showed up they had been at an awards night. Steve instead stands in his shadow looking ridiculously delectable in an outfit Tony _knows_ Jan had press-ganged him into. Steve is deadly gorgeous in pressed black slacks and a rumpled emerald coloured shirt that looks painted on with the top two buttons undone. Tony finds his gaze often catching on the sliver of Steve's throat that's on show, watching the rise and fall of his husband's chest with a hungry gaze. He wants to mark him, wants with a ferocious possessiveness that would frighten him if he didn't have the gold band around his finger telling him Steve was his in a forged bond as old as time.

And Steve, the little shit that he is, is smirking like he knows, keeps tilting his chin up to bare his throat in submission that licks at the flames of Tony's desire. Tony doesn't think he could love him more. Steve, behind closed doors, is filthy. Steve is dirty, Steve is rough and gorgeous and dangerous. Steve will try anything at least once, and then he'll try it again to make sure he was right the first time. Steve will wear lace under his stealth uniform and find a way to text Tony about it halfway through a covert operation when he's informed by insider info ~~Pepper~~ that Tony's in a meeting just to rile him up. He'll watch Tony make bed restraints strong enough to hold him with hooded eyes and the minute they are ready pull Tony into their bedroom with a moan. Steve is perfect, beautiful. Wrecked and rotten.

Tony _loves_ him. And maybe that's why he books into a hotel that is his in a disguise and under his mother's maiden name. He wants him with reckless abandon, and doesn't want to tip off the press, doesn't want to share him with anyone else, doesn't want the perfectly messy lines of his Steve smoothed over in cordial and superhero Captain America. At least not tonight.

"Hi I have a reservation under Mr. Carbonell." He says behind sunglasses and a dodgers baseball cap. He'd find it funny, how little makes him anonymous in the sharp light of the oncoming sunset, but he's too hyped up to care. Steve's moulded to his back, huffing a laugh against Tony's neck that has every hair standing to attention.

"I plan to be under Mr. Carbonell myself." Steve whispers, making Tony choke a broken laugh. The receptionist, a bland looking man who looks slightly like an overstuffed pastry, looks up at the sound and narrows his eyes. Tony thinks at first they'd been caught, feels like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Just the one room, Mr. Carbonell?" The man asks, and Tony's shoulders roll back. He'd have found it hilarious, how unrecognisable Steve becomes when out of costume, except it means that the covetous glances that are often masked behind respect when in face with Captain America are more open and hungry when they simply think he's a gorgeous man. But the look the man glances Steve with is far from adoring, instead his upper lip curled with something that vaguely looks like judgement. Tony rolls his shoulders square.

"Yes." he says, voice clipped, "just the one, for one night. We won't need longer."

"Uhm." the receptionist sweats now, beads of it rolling down his face, "uhm, I don't think I have a reservation under that name."

"What." Tony says, because it's not phrased like a question. It's phrased like incredulity.

"I don't - think - I have a room for you... both. I think there is a hotel a few blocks away that will be more accommodating to your, ah, tastes." The receptionist says now, blood rushing to Tony's ears as anger swamps him.

"You _cannot_ be serious." Tony barks, ignoring Steve's soothing hand on the small of his back like a brand, "I have had a difficult day, quite frankly awful, and all I want is to relax with a hot espresso, my hotter companion, and go to bed. So, with all due respect, you need to give me a straight answer as to why you won't give me my key card so I can be on my way."

The man's eyes flick to Steve. To beautiful, delightful Steve whose hands that have been stroking a pattern into Tony's sweatshirt stop still at the insinuation. Tony watches his husbands eyes fill with heartbreak, and steels himself.

"You cannot be seriously turning us away because we are _together._ " He spits.

"Mr Carbonell..."

"Oh no," Tony bites, words waspish, "I think you'll be getting your manager about now." The man scuttles away, Tony's bloody boiling. Doesn't he _own_ this hotel? Are his staff behaving this way with other couples? The thought nearly unmans him.

"Calm, darling." Steve breathes, thumbs Tony's waist, "I'm sure it'll be a misunderstanding."

"Sweetheart, you can't help but see the best in people." Tony's voice is soft, before it hardens again, "unlike you, I've had enough experience to know differently."

The receptionist comes running forth with a man whose badge proclaims his as manager, indicating that at least they are beginning to step in the right direction. Tony firmly vows to himself to fuck Steve so fiercely and loudly in every room available to buy just to piss them off.

"Hi Mr. Carbonell, my name is Alexander and I am the manager. Liam here has informed me you want to understand our policies in a little more detail." The tone is dry and snooty and Tony is up to here with _fucking enough_ of this.

"Yes, Alexander. You are certainly right about that." Tony takes off his glasses, pulls his cap off and nearly rolls his eyes at the theatric gasp of the newly introduced Liam, "now you might not have seen the news but myself and my partner have had an absolute disaster of a day and my house is rubble. Thanks to the charms of overnight contractors it should be in fine shape shortly but instead of making the long drive out to our country house I thought a stay, albeit it in disguise, at my _own hotel with my husband_ would do the trick at such a late hour. But now I see I am employing _homophobic staff and you are even about to explain it away in a discussion about your policies,_ Alexander. So yes, I'd like some more detail."

"Mr. Stark," the receptionist squeaks, sweat practically dripping off him in waves of steam.

Tony won't be stopped now, "We've had a truly foul day, including Von Doom trying to choke slam me, do not test me."

"Mr Stark," Alexander rushes in, face the shade of uncomfortable puce, "I can only apologise for the misunderstanding."

"What _misunderstanding???_ " Tony barks, looking between the two employees like he was watching a tennis match, who both refuse to meet his eyes.

"Well, it's late made reservation for one room and... and..." Liam shuffles the words out on a mumble.

"And what?" Tony is incredulous.

"They thought I was a prostitute, Tony." Steve's voice as a rumble, crackling and cutting through the confusion.

"That's absurd." Tony crows, "him? Captain America? Are you having me on? Am I getting punk'd? Is Ashton Kutcher about to burst out the woodwork with a camera crew? Did I miss the hidden cameras? Are we on Ellen?" Steve snorts and Tony flashes him a quick smile.

"I can only apologise for the assumption." Alexander rushes out, sweat dripping down his face now, distinctly aware his job may well be forfeit.

"Well, this will make for a good story at dinner parties. _Captain America,_ a prostitute. Do you know, I've fought magically charmed monster cupcakes around New York and still this is the most bizarre evening I have ever had." The pair continue to utter a million stuttering apologies, but Tony is more focused on the first part of this mistake identity.

"I want to offer our deluxe penthouse and the assurance that we will be revisiting our policies at a corporate level immediately." Alexander addresses Steve now, who instead of looking insulted has a smug grin that does something wicked to Tony's insides. 

"I don't know why you are smirking. For once I'm not being presumed to be the one dragging down this relationship." Tony counters, practically ignoring the hotel staff now.

"Being mistaken for a high end prostitute makes for a difference from a choir boy." Steve says, indulgent with a voice like caramel granting him Tony's laser like focus. Somewhere, one of the two idiot employees choke on his tongue and splutters.

"I can't believe - I'm so sorry - it's just one night stays booked last minute with late night check-ins are a red flag and well - well." Liam splutters, gesturing at Steve's attire, which only serves to make the _insufferable_ man break out into a cheshire grin.

"And _what?_ " Tony cries exasperatedly. And you'd think this would make the receptionist back down, but no.

"He's not exactly dressed for the evening."

"We've come from a gala. He forgot his suit jacket what with _saving the world._ " Sarcasm drips from Tony's voice now.

This only serves for Liam to double down on his idiocy and say quietly, "It's a New York January." Referring to the bitter chill outside. And really, Tony wasn't a complete idiot. He was aware it was bitterly brisk outside, that's why he'd ushered Steve in so quickly to the foyer in the first place, trying to shake the distraction of Steve's nipples pebbled against the silk of his shirt.

"If anyone looks like a prostitute in this relationship, I would like to think it would be me." Tony is petulant now and Steve gently pats his shoulder.

"Tony," he says softly, in the tone of someone who has had this conversation a million times before, "I know. You'd make a good prostitute."

"I'd make an _excellent_ one!" Tony shouts, and the manager splutters whilst the receptionist chokes on air.

"Anyway," he coughs out eventually, before sliding two sleek black key cards across the marble desk, "please accept our best penthouse suit, with our most humble apologies. If you need anything at all, or wish to take this further I," he gulps, "I completely understand Mr Stark."

The pair look so cowed, and Tony can only feel the heat of Steve radiating at his back like a furnace, and sigh. “It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, it’s a disgrace. Sex workers are people too, and your assumptions make a mockery of this hotel. I would like a copy of the minutes and follow up of revision to company policy, however. And if I find another couple has experienced this behaviour there will be hell to pay.” He fixes them with a trademark Iron Man stern look, and the pair nod like puppets on strings.

* * *

The penthouse suite is opulent, but for a man used to decadence at every turn it didn’t do much to soothe his frazzled nerves. The fight hadn’t been difficult, Von Doom more focused on monologuing than the upper hand, but the collateral damage had been personal. He’s glad the debris had been isolated to the top two floors, but his family and his home being threatened had him still flooded with adrenaline. And the altercation downstairs hadn’t done much to fix it.

“I don’t know what to be more angry at - that they thought you were a prostitute or I thought they were turning us away for being gay. Which is worse?” He slumps back in the velvet chair, unable to recognise the smooth silky feel against his aching back.

“Hmm... I’d say the homophobia, darling.” Steve answers from behind him, hands already firm and kneading at the knots in Tony’s shoulders, rolling out a groan from Tony’s lips.

“Yeah that’s true. I’ve known some great women, and men, earning their living through their body. Just surprised they thought you were one, Mr Apple Pie. Where am I picking up someone as gorgeous as you?” Tony jokes. 

The air becomes thick, and Steve stops the massage of Tony’s shoulder, coming round to kneel by his legs with a fluid grace. “Hmm - you phoned an escort service, I imagine. You can afford the best and you wanted someone who would look simply stunning on your arm. You would have specified taller than you, well built, cause you like someone who looks like they can take you apart and bend you in half. They’d have been a bit surprised, the service is used to weak men who want someone breakable so they feel stronger. Not you, you like someone powerful to hold you down with one hand and make you take it. I was perfect.”

“Oh god.” Is all Tony can answer, delighted and ridiculously turned on by his filthy and wonderful husband.

“You’ve hired prostitutes before, but not for a while, and never someone who looks so much like your perfect match. You’d be nervous, but I’m expensive and exactly what you wanted and all you’d be able to think is how you’d have paid double without a fuss for how my lips will look around your cock.”

Tony’s throat is dry, his heart thundering, his cock so full it aches. “What am I going to do with you?” He questions, half to himself, half part of this charade. He’s surprised how deep and dark his voice comes out.

“You are going to put me to my knees, going to guide your cock down my throat, so hurried you can’t even get the rest of your clothes off.” As Steve speaks he settles in between Tony’s sprawled legs, only pausing to mouth at the crotch of Tony’s jeans, wrestling a tortured groan from his mouth. He pulls Tony’s cock out without much preamble, looks down at it with unadulterated lust. “Will you let me, Mr Stark? Will you let me suck you?”

“Oh fuck yes.” Tony growls, and that’s all it takes for Steve to take Tony’s length deep into his throat. 

Steve’s always had a gift for cocksucking. His enhanced ability to hold his breath, to breathe through his nose calmly and quickly, means he often has Tony a babbling mess before either of them can think. He’s slower now, let’s the weight of Tony’s cock sit on his tongue a minute, swirls his tongue around the head and down the slit that has Tony fisting his dirty blonde hair. He continues in a lazy and wicked rhythm until Tony’s near mad with it, before pulling off with a grin. Tony tracks the saliva strand that connects Steve’s puffed, red lips to his cock and feels a surge of red lust bolt down his spine.

Steve grins, rocks back on his heels, and slowly unbuttons the shirt that’s driven Tony crazy all evening.

“You can’t believe you managed to keep your hands off me all night in front of everyone.” He says, voice slightly hoarse in a way that twists and grabs at Tony’s lungs. “Men and women alike couldn’t take their eyes off me. You kept focusing on my neck, wanting to bite down on the vein there and mark me in front of everyone, wanted to just take. You couldn’t wait to leave, couldn’t wait to get your hands on me.”

The shirt is off now, and the slacks follow in quick succession. Tony nearly swoons as he stands up in a rush to divest himself of his own clothing in quick agreement, until finally they are both wonderfully, gorgeously naked together.

Steve is dangerously stunning, body made for battle, cock thick and hanging heavy between his legs. Steve is his and Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it, ever understand what he’s done to deserve this man to come home to, this man who is wicked and decadent in a way only he gets to see. It’s a quick move to the bed, Tony sinking down onto the sheets with Steve quick to follow above him. Steve’s large frame looming across him should make Tony feel trapped, but all he feels is freedom.

“How are you so perfect?” Tony asks huskily, perhaps a shade too close to real and unflinchingly honest. Steve, god love him, doesn’t break for a moment, hitting stride with his character now enough to make Tony cramp with lust.

“It’s my duty to know what my client might want on an evening and be prepared for it. I’m paid well enough to do so.”

A delighted sound is rung out of Tony, somewhere between a groan and love. “Steve, you are killing me sweetheart.”

“Not yet, I hope,” the love of his life says with a grin, “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Tony is not even ashamed to admit he lets out a squeak of delight before his eyes are laser focused on Steve slathering lube across his fingers, dropping down the bed to press kisses across Tony’s thighs and whisper a breath across his hole. The gentle exhale makes Tony’s eyes roll back in his head, lost in the sensation.

When they had first started dating, Tony had been worried about dirtying up Steve Rogers, about tainting him by association. He’d also, in a corner of his brain he’d never admit to, been saying a short goodbye to debauchery and decadence in the bedroom, assuming he’d never see anything more than the missionary position ever again. He’d laugh, now, to look back at how assumptions had made an ass of himself. Steve is filthy, free with it in the way only someone completely and utterly secure in not only his own sexuality, but his partners love and understanding, could be. They have a phenomenal sex life only hampered occasionally by Tony’s virility (because come on, he was a man closer to 50 than 40). But even then the heat they shared during those times had a certain sweet and simmering fire unique to them that Tony had come to love in its own way. Tony had done a lot of things in his life, but there was nothing like being with someone who loved you in a space safe enough for anything.

He comes back into his own head now as Steve prepares him, scissors him wide with his gorgeous large and blunt fingers. Steve’s careful not to hit his prostate, a fact that makes Tony narrow his eyes looking down at his lover, who only glances at him with a wicked grin.

“You are a bad – _bad –_ man.” Tony groans out, as Steve twists his fingers in a particularly filthy move that means they skate across his prostate and cause sparks to light up past his eyelids.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr Stark.” And it should not be that hot, to hear his name spoken in choirboy tones whilst Steve’s knuckles are buried in his ass, but apparently Tony is learning something new about himself tonight whilst being thoroughly debauched by the love of his life.

His life is not one he is inordinately proud of, and he atones for the sins of his past, of his father, with a near literal pound of flesh every other day. There is a lot of things he has done he is not proud of, a lot of things that wake him in terror with his mouth open on a scream. But he knows, fiercely and deeply, that he would not change an inch if it meant losing this, losing the route of the road that led him to Steve.

It’s an unbearably fond thought, one perhaps not appropriate for roleplays and the way his breath hitches as Steve finally, mercifully, breaches him and pushes inside. He looks up at his better half and pushes a lock of sweaty hair that’s fallen forward into his eyes. Steve’s eyes are molten, thick with longing and answered love. Steve reaches up with one hand (because he’s this _nauseatingly_ strong supersoldier that can carry his weight in one hand and reach for Tony with the other, Tony would find it dreadfully dull on anyone else but his Steve) and clasps Tony’s hand in his own, grips it tightly against Steve’s cheek.

“Hey.” He whispers, voice heavy with everything and nothing.

“Hey.” Tony whispers back. Then, because after all, he is _Tony_ , he says, “Now are you going to show me why I’m paying you the big bucks?”

Steve’s grin turns filthy and sharp, and he takes Tony’s hand still trapped in his, and pulls it above Tony’s head. He gestures for Tony’s other hand, which shortly follows, and it’s no time at all before Steve has both of Tony’s wrists caught in one hand (because Tony didn’t have a size kink before Steve, but it turned out being made to feel small and fragile whilst being pounded into oblivion made that move along pretty quick).

“Oh, my customers always leave me satisfied.” Steve says, low and husky, eyes devouring Tony stretched out before him, “Leave your hands there.” He says, command threading his tone, desire flowing through Tony like quicksilver, before using both his own hands to sit up. The angle sparks something delicious up Tony’s back that wrenches a groan from his lips, Steve’s eyes zeroing in on the sound with a lick of his lips. He kneels above Tony, lit up from the skylight like some dirty angel. The rhythm is slow, a delicious slide that is so far from rushed Tony thinks he can feel every inch and drag. Steve looks down at him with a gaze close to adoration, like Tony is his lodestar, his center point which everything else merely revolves around. The room is quiet aside the filthy sound of skin sliding, of heavy breathing, but it fills the room with something like a confession.

Tony loses all sense of time, it could be minutes or hours when Steve next hitches his legs up to rest on his chest. He can’t help the immaturity of sticking a toe in his lover’s ear, sticking a tongue out when Steve groans.

“If you can still think about being cheeky,” Steve says round a laugh, “I’m not doing good enough a job.”

The rhythm changes, abrupt and sudden, fast and thick. The change in angle means Steve hits deeper now, enough so that Tony thinks he can almost feel him on the back of his throat. And he knows, from the way sweat pools in the shadows of Steve’s arms, from the little grunts wrung from Steve every so often, that the angle has changed something for him too, made him feel Tony _more._ The only sound now is skin on skin, filthy and obvious, as are the moans Tony feels punched out of him on every exhale of air. It’s lewd and loud, broken and beautiful, but it’s _them._

He feels his release build behind his eyelids, fast and sure, and Steve has enough presence of mind, roleplay be damned, to groan “Tony, I’m gonna – you gotta.” So Tony clenches down as they both fall apart together, groan into each other’s air like a prayer.

It’s some indeterminable amount of time later, that Tony comes back into himself like he’s just had the most incredible bout of lucid dreaming. Steve’s collapsed on top of him, the steady inhale-exhale of his chest the only beat Tony ever cares about, only song he’d listen to for the rest of his life.

“If I didn’t feel so concerned about the judgemental attitudes of my staff, I’d be leaving them a tip for starting this all off.” He says, voice slightly slurred with pure contentment. He feels Steve’s chest vibrate against his as he huffs a laugh, runs a hand through Tony’s hair, before rocking back to look into Tony’s eyes.

“I’ll follow your lead.” He says, heartbreakingly firm and honest, and Tony feels like he means it as more than just leaving an extra 100 in the hotel room.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's very telling that I cannot write porn without feelings and a healthy dose of Steve and Tony feels. I'm physically incapable.
> 
>  _Please_ do drop a comment, or find me on [tumblr](https://eachxnn.tumblr.com/)


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